The magistrates were glad to find Belotti in the house. The notary had
managed his little property, and respected him as an honest man. He
now asked him to act as guide to his companions and himself. The most
important matter was to find the dead woman's will. Such a document must
be in existence, for up to the day after Henrica's illness it had been
in the lawyer's possession, but was then sent for by the old lady, who
desired to make some changes in it. He could give no information about
its contents, for his dead partner, whose business had fallen to him,
had assisted in drawing it up.

The steward first conducted the visitors to the padrona's sitting-room
and boudoir, but though they searched the writing-tables, chests and
drawers, and discovered many letters, money and valuable jewels in boxes
and caskets, the document was not found.

The gentlemen thought it was concealed in a secret drawer, and ordered
one of the constables to call a locksmith. Belotti allowed this to be
done, but meantime listened with special attention to the low chanting
that issued from the bedroom where the old lady's body lay. He knew that
the will would most probably be found there, but was anxious to have the
priest complete the consecration of his mistress undisturbed. As soon
as all was still in the death-chamber, he asked the gentlemen to follow
him.

The lofty apartment into which he led them, was filled with the odor
of incense. A large bedstead, over which a pointed canopy of heavy silk
rose to the ceiling, stood at the back, the coffin in which the dead
woman lay had been placed in the middle of the room. A linen cloth,
trimmed with lace, covered the face. The delicate hands, still
unwrinkled, were folded, and lightly clasped a well-worn rosary. The
lifeless form was concealed beneath a costly coverlid, in the centre of
which lay an exquisitely-carved ivory crucifix.

The visitors bowed mutely before the corpse. Belotti approached it and,
as he saw the padrona's well-known hands, a convulsive sob shook the old
man's breast. Then he knelt beside the coffin, pressed his lips, to the
cold, slender fingers, and a warm tear, the only one shed for this dead
form, fell on the hands now clasped forever.

The burgomaster and his companion did not interrupt him, even when
he laid his forehead upon the wood of the coffin and uttered a brief,
silent prayer. After he had risen, and an elderly priest in the
sacerdotal robes had left the